


On Love

by calixte



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Character study? Maybe?, Other, idek what this is, short and (not) sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:41:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23757055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calixte/pseuds/calixte
Summary: A peek inside the head of our favorite serial killer.Written for a sprint at the Prodigal Son disco server, I have no idea.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 20





	On Love

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this, come on down and join us on the [Prodigal Son Trash Server](https://discord.gg/nBYCCwX)!

He was a narcissist and a psychopath long before he was The Surgeon, even _a_ surgeon. It affected everything; how he lived, how he felt, what he noticed, how he loved. Especially who he loved. 

Martin Whitly loved his wife; people would say he’d used Jess as a cover, and it was true, he had. But he had also loved her. She was beautiful, powerful, alluring, and he’d captured that, held it close, possessed it and her when he’d given her two brilliant, promising children. He’d loved his children, too. Beautiful, bright Malcolm, so quiet and smart--almost as much as he was--his legacy, his _son_. A man had desires, he’d told Jess that once; of course what he hadn’t told her was that one of those desires was to let his son _know_ him. Know all of it. 

It had been a long journey and one he had never expected this ending to, though Claremont Psychiatric was not his end; his legacy would live on. People didn’t have to applaud what he’d done, just admire it. And they would, the perversity of his accomplishments saw to that. The human capacity for disgust at murder and gore was far outweighed by the capacity for fascination. 

He had another chance now, with his hands finally unbound--at long last--and a scalpel taken between his fingers, held expertly and confidently as he studied the man’s rapidly dying body on the floor in front of him, regarded as coolly and analytically as an predator would regard prey. The pleural cavity was filling with blood, crushing the lung with its pressure, as he calmly explained to Ainsley what was happening, watching her and Malcolm both suspiciously eye him. He saw it with a suffusion of undeniable pleasure, though he kept that hidden.This, this was exactly what he’d been to them before: kind, a teacher, a savior. Now they were revisiting that, revisiting _him_ as he shed the visible skin of the unstable serial killer as easily as one of Malcolm’s old pet snakes.

He smiled, his face animated, his manner calm and assured. His children would love him for this, more now than they ever had. 

“Let’s get to work.”


End file.
